


It’s Not the Size of the Airship; or, Less Tashin, More Passion

by Island_of_Reil



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ethuverazeise Slang for Dicks, Insecurity, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sexual Humor, Slutty Cala, Small Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cala doesn’t have a maz that will make Beshelar's “tashin stick” bigger. But he has other ways to make Beshelar feel better about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Not the Size of the Airship; or, Less Tashin, More Passion

**Author's Note:**

> This is all the fault of the other degenerates in #thegoblinemperor.

For quite a few minutes after his bath, Beshelar remained in the Alcethmeret washroom he shared with Cala, waiting for him to enter. Yet the sight of the maza’s head brushing the lintel made his stomach knot further with apprehension. It was not that he feared mockery; Beshelar had to admit that, as frivolous and ill-dressed as he was, Cala Athmaza was not an unkind man. But he knew that no matter how well Cala concealed his amusement, he would yet be unable to suppress at least a glint of it from his eyes.

“That was quite the tiring shift,” Cala said with a yawn, closing the door behind him. “I’m glad it’s over with and Kiru and Telimezh fully briefed.” He walked to the washtable and placed his spectacles onto them. Then he poured a measure of water from the ewer into the bowl and splashed his face with it.

“Do you intend to bathe? We will leave, in that case,” Beshelar said, more curtly than he’d intended.

“No, may’st stay; I’ll bathe before our morning shift.” Cala lathered up a washcloth and began to dab at his ears. Beshelar found himself bristling at the presumption of the informal address, which made gathering his courage to ask the question all the more difficult.

At length, Cala turned around from the mirror over the washtable, squinting. “Didst wish to ask me something, Beshelar? My ablutions can’t be _that_ fascinating.” His tone was light, not chiding.

Beshelar found himself turning red, but — reminding himself that he would not have become nohecharis had he not proven his valor in far more challenging situations — he said, “Indeed, we did.” Dropping his volume and pitch a bit, he added, “And we would appreciate it greatly if you could keep our counsel in this matter.”

Cala’s brows lifted. He put down the washcloth, put his spectacles back on, and said, “Of course. What troubles thee, anyway, that look’st so tense?”

Beshelar opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened it again, then closed it again. Cala stood silently, a mildly encouraging look on his face. Finally Beshelar blurted, “Is there a maz to— to—” He broke off in shame. When Cala’s expression did not change, Beshelar rushed out all at once, “—to make one’s tashin stick greater in length or girth?”

The glint didn’t materialize immediately. It was preceded by a look as though a great hand had reached out of the heavens and slapped Cala dumb. After a few seconds, though, the glint appeared. Very, very measuredly, Cala said, “No, there is not.”

“Oh.” Beshelar tried to keep his face stony and his ears from tumbling to his shoulders. “We suppose it was a foolish question.”

Cala blinked. “Well… no, it isn’t. It’s a perfectly reasonable one that’s been asked countless times. The lecturers of the Athmaz’are disabuse novices of the idea that such a thing exists as soon as the novices’ voices begin to break.” He paused for a moment. “Thou’st heard the saying, hastn’t thou, that it’s not the size of the airship but the skill of the pilot that matters?”

The blood came flooding back into Beshelar’s face. “Yes, of course we have heard that saying. That is immaterial to the issue.” He did not add, _And it is small comfort to “pilots” who have little to no skill._

“Well, Beshelar, I was trying to ease thy mind. And without offending thy sense of propriety. I could, if wanted’st me to, examine thy tashin and reassure thee that its dimensions are entirely respectable.”

Beshelar’s jaw fell open. Before he could regather his wits, Cala added, “Surely, after thy tenure in the Guard, I wouldn’t be the first man to see it, would I?”

“Guardsmen do _not_ make a habit of examining one another’s intimate parts, maza!”

“Dost mean to tell me all the lurid stories I’ve heard about military life were exaggerated?” Cala asked mildly, his face deadpan. Beshelar spluttered. “In any case,” Cala went on, “the offer stands.”

Beshelar fell silent and stared at Cala. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Cala shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? I saw as many cocks in the Athmaz’are washrooms as I’m sure thou saw’st in the latrines. It’s just flesh, Beshelar, nothing shocking or shameful. And, as I said and I’m sure know’st by know, I don’t bear tales.”

Beshelar pondered this all for a moment. There was, really, nobody else he could ask. Well, there were his friends in the Untheileneise Guard, as they’d seen him and he them naked any number of times, but he didn’t care to be teased about it until his dying day. Captain Orthema? Mer Aisava? His Ser— Beshelar shut down that line of thought with a firm mental _**NO.**_

His face heating up again, he said, “All right.” And he reached beneath his tunic, pulled his freshly donned hose down to his knees, and closed his eyes.

There was a long moment of silence in which nothing happened.

Beshelar opened his eyes to see Cala regarding him calmly. The maza said, “Well, it seems no different than any other tashin stick to me. Of course, it’s soft, and it’s impossible to speak accurately about size when it’s in that condition.”

“Er,” Beshelar said. “This is… not the optimal situation in which to attain an erection, we’re sure you realize.”

The maza grinned at him. “Allow me, Lieutenant?”

“Allow you to—”

Beshelar had already known that Cala moved surprisingly fast. Even as dachenmaza, he wouldn’t have been appointed First Nohecharis or even Second had he not enjoyed a modicum of good physical condition. Still, Beshelar wasn’t prepared for the swiftness with which Cala wound up on his knees in front of him, his hand around the base of Beshelar’s cock and its head in his mouth.

“What are you— _aaaahhh_.” Beshelar fell back with a thud against the tiled wall, mouth opening, eyes rolling back in his head.

Cala pulled off him with an obscenely wet sound and said, “Preparing thee for my evaluation. By the way, dost _ever_ speak in the informal? I’ve just had thy tashin in my mouth, I think canst ease up a little on the propriety now.” And he returned his attentions to Beshelar’s cock, which had begun to swell considerably. Beshelar clawed at the tiles and groaned and hoped that Mer Aisava wasn’t in his own washroom to hear all this through the wall.

It wasn't long before Cala pulled off again. “Hm,” he said, holding up Beshelar’s cock in his hand and examining it. Beshelar noticed his own clear seed glistening on the maza’s thin lips. “It’s not the biggest tashin I’ve seen, nor the smallest. It’s a modest size, to be sure. But know’st the advantage of that, Beshelar?”

“No?” Beshelar croaked.

“It fits more easily down one’s throat. Or into one’s arse.” And before Beshelar could splutter indignantly again, his cock was back in Cala’s mouth, and Cala was, it seemed, trying to get it entirely down his throat.

Beshelar threw an arm over his face to stifle his moans. Gods and goddesses, Cala was good at this. Where had he learned to ply his tongue like that? Had he done more than just see other mazei’s cocks, just as many soldiers did more than just see one another naked? He was struck by the sudden image of Cala naked, on his knees, servicing another maza fore and a third aft… and, not long after that, his hips began to stutter.

“Cala,” he said urgently, but Cala simply grabbed Beshelar’s hips to keep him in place. Beshelar in turn grabbed Cala’s queue and knotted his fingers into the untidy locks, which earned him a pleased moan that vibrated around his cock. His climax hit him like a wave in a sea-storm, and he pulled Cala’s head tight against his groin as Cala sucked him dry. When the sensation became unbearable, he pushed Cala away to lean back against the wall, shuddering and panting and trying with all his remaining strength not to slide down it onto the floor.

“Deret,” Cala said hoarsely. “I…”

Beshelar looked down at him through hooded eyes. “We… I am not so skilled as thee,” he said regretfully.

“I wouldn’t ask it of thee tonight. I haven’t even bathed yet.” Cala rose to his feet and hitched up his robe. “Just stand there and let me —”

“Let thee—” Beshelar echoed with a frown of befuddlement. When Cala bent a few inches and Beshelar felt the hot heaviness of the maza’s cock against his own inner thigh, he understood. “Shouldst not strain thy back so,” he said disapprovingly, grabbing Cala by the hand and pulling him along as he lowered himself to the floor.

Cala’s tashin was somewhat larger than Beshelar’s. He was content to thrust it back and forth between Beshelar’s thighs, which Beshelar pressed tightly together around it as they lay on their sides facing one another. Before long, Cala’s slender fingers dug into the musculature of Beshelar’s arms and he uttered a guttural groan. Hot, sticky wetness sluiced over Beshelar’s skin.

Cala let out a long sigh, his lids fluttering shut behind his spectacles. Beshelar felt a strong impulse to kiss him, but then he remembered where Cala’s mouth had just been. When Cala’s eyes opened, he smiled broadly at Beshelar, who managed to muster a quiet one in return.

“Well, that was diverting,” Cala said. “I should clean thee up, though.”

“I can manage,” Beshelar said, rising. He fetched a few clean washcloths, applied more water to them, and had both the floor and his thighs clean in short order. Cala attended to himself similarly.

“Cala,” Beshelar said, remembering words spoken earlier. “Didst thou—” He stopped himself, blushing furiously.

The maza blinked owlishly behind his spectacles. “Did I what?”

“Didst thou mean what said’st, about… the advantages of a small tashin stick?”

Cala’s smile came slowly this time, but it ended as a grin overspreading his entire face, and the glint in his eyes was much stronger. “Oh, of course. I must say, Lieutenant, that not only is thine airship of a convenient size, but it is a most lovely airship as well. Perhaps I should dub it the _Gratification of Cala_.”

“Maza,” Beshelar said warningly.

“I must ask Dachensol Ebremis to find me a bottle of good wine to break over it at the naming ceremony.”

Cala moved fast, but not fast enough to duck a balled-up washcloth full of seed.


End file.
